


The Glutton and the Gourmet

by HasteinAurelius



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Cooking, F/M, POV First Person, Romance, Some Humor, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HasteinAurelius/pseuds/HasteinAurelius
Summary: Niccolo’s POV of his time on a scouting mission to the island of the devils, his capture, and his salvation from the war by one of the very devils he had been trained to hate.
Relationships: Sasha Blouse/Niccolo
Comments: 28
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers ahead! Probably. Each chapter will be preceded by a note saying what type of spoilers, if any, there are. The first chapter takes place entirely behind the scenes and concerns an event mentioned in S4E1, the lost ships. Really, the only spoiler in this chapter is also in the tags, the fact that this fic's POV character exists. Most of this fic will take place behind the scenes and I'll try to limit spoilers in it whenever I can.

The sound of the waves lapping against the hull below me is almost hypnotic as I drink my coffee. Normally, I find the sound relaxing. Normally. Like how normally I’m glad the draft board sent me to the navy as a marine, where I guard ships and occasionally assault beaches, instead of the army, where I’d spend my days cowering in a trench and waiting for artillery to rain hell on me. Tonight, I’d rather face the artillery. 

“Men are ready, Sarge,” a gruff voice informs me. 

“Thanks, Klaus,” I reply to my Corporal before I gulp down the rest of the coffee and tuck the tin mess cup back into my rucksack.

Turning, I see the Captain approach. He’s one of the better officers I’ve served under, so I give him a sharp salute, which he returns. 

“Good luck, Niccolo,” he tells me while offering a handshake. 

“Thank you, Captain ,” I state while accepting his firm handshake. He’s not bad for a Marleyian. Not like my last Captain, who treated conscripts like we were damn devils instead of actual people. I sling my ruck over a shoulder and make my way to the longboat where the rest of the unlucky bastards in 4th squad are waiting. Wonder if any of them blame me for drawing the short straw this morning? 

A quick glance around shows me everything is in place, so I drop my ruck next to my waiting anti-titan rifle and nod to the pair of seamen standing by the winch. They nod back and lower us into the abyss. As we drop, I take one last drag from what may be my last cigarette and flick the butt into the waves. 

We’ve already discussed the duties of the advance party thoroughly, so there’s no need for orders when we touch down on the inky black water. Four of the men unship oars and begin rowing towards our target. 

It’s barely a silhouette under a waning half moon, but that’s enough to make my blood run cold. Paradis. The island of the damned. The filthy subhuman devils who’ve been threatening the rest of the world with death under titanic feet for over a century. I’m sure the rest of the men share my fear, but none show it. We all have family back home and know this is the first strike in the operation that will end the threat hanging over their heads. 

As we close in, I lift my binoculars and begin scanning the beach for targets. If all goes well, we’ll clear the landing site of titans while they sleep, allowing the captain to make an unopposed landing. And then other titans will probably eat us later in the day. What a shit assignment. 

Nothing yet. I pause my search a moment to make sure Diego and Lucille have remembered to use their issued binoculars. Both are busily scanning the shoreline as they should, so I resume my task as we draw closer. Strange. I thought there’d be at least a couple of the big bastards sleeping on the beach but haven’t seen a single one by time the prow hits sand. I catch Diego and Lucille’s eyes and they both shake their head. 

“Guido, send the signal,” I whisper. He lights our semaphore lantern and flashes a brief message back to the ship. A minute later, I see the acknowledgement flashed back.

“Right, let’s go,” I order. 

We pull the boat further up the beach, leaving our life vests in it, then split up as planned. Klaus has also been issued an anti-titan rifle, we each take three riflemen and begin searching the beach. “This is creepy, Sergeant ,” Enzo remarks from beside me. “Where the fuck are they?” He’s right. The weather is clear and the moon gives us plenty of light to search by. 

“Maybe they went to their vacation home,” Olga jokes from my other side. She always makes bad jokes when she gets nervous. 

“Both of you, cut the chatter.” It doesn’t take us long to survey our half of the beach and meet back with Klaus’s team. “Anything?” I whisper to him. 

“Not a damn thing.”

Shit. I wave Guido forward. “Tell them, ‘beach clear, moving to forest.’” He nods and gets to work. “Lanterns,” I call out quietly. Enzo and Andre quickly light the special night lanterns. Wouldn’t do to trip over a titan. The thick red glass in the hood casts a ruddy beam that spares our night vision. We move forward in a loose line once both are lit, close enough to maintain visual contact with each other around the thick trees. 

Still nothing. My spine feels like ice and I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong. I really wish I was charging up a beach at mid east entrenchments right now. The creeping dread I feel as we advance through the trees is even eclipsing the terror I’ve felt from facing machine gun fire. 

Suddenly, there is a soft thump from my right, followed by a sound like something running through the underbrush and a strange sound I can’t place my finger on. “Squad halt. Right lantern to three o’clock,” I order quietly. 

“Sergeant,” Enzo calls back, “Guido’s gone.”

“Rally on Enzo. What do you mean, gone?” I ask while the squad gathers around him. 

“He was standing right there and something took him.” Under the red light, the trail of damaged underbrush looks like it’s coated in blood. 

“Then we find it and kill it. Keep that light ahead of me.” My hands would be shaking if I wasn’t gripping my rifle so tight, looking over the sights for a nape to blow a hole through. Enzo walks with me on my left, Diego on my right, and I can hear Klaus quietly organizing the rest. Then I hear the noise again, from behind, followed by a rapidly receding scream. 

“Shit!” Klaus spits. “It took Lucille!”

“Did you see it?” I ask. 

“Yeah, Sarge. Looked like a person, but didn’t move like one. Too fast, almost like it was flying.”

Ah, hell. Those things aren’t supposed to be this far from the walls. “It’s the devils,” Enzo whispers, coming to the same conclusion. 

The strange noise, almost like a giant zipper, comes from above this time, from multiple directions. Circling our position. “They’re in the fucking trees!” Andre yells, sounding on the verge of panic.

“Calm, eyes up, squad!” I order as I lower my rifle and draw my pistol. What I wouldn’t give for a mortar and a few parachute flares right now. Or at least a machine pistol or shotgun. “We’re withdrawing to the beach, at a walk.” If we run, we panic, and that will guarantee nobody will be able to warn the Captain. “Drop your rucks and go.”

The slow pace of the retreat wears on my nerves as I fight the impulse to break and run. And then I hear it, a zipper coming towards us. “Two o’clock high, five rounds rapid!” I shout and then I hear nothing but booming reports as what’s left of the squad unloads their weapons. 

“Klaus and Andre are gone,” Enzo morosely reports as we begin to reload. Did we just shoot at a distraction?

“The devils must not be very hungry,” Olga jokes, “they only take small bites.”

A surprised laugh bursts from the trees behind us, followed by a feminine voice that says, “Shut up, dummy!”

I’m about to order the squad to turn and fire when another female voice directly ahead of us announces, “Over here!” The squad needs no prompting to open fire on the nearer target. We apparently miss, as a cackling laugh retreats upward. 

“The fuck was that, shitty glasses?” a male voice demands angrily from the same area. 

“Hey Olga, who’d have thought devils shared your shitty sense of humor?” Enzo asks as he reloads again. 

“Why you think it’s so shitty?” Diego adds, drawing a gallows laugh from the trio. 

I drop the anti-titan rifle, useless against these targets. “Enzo, hand me the lantern. Fix bayonets,” I order. “We’re almost back to the treeline. Close ranks.” This is even worse than the times the ships I was on were sunk, when I had to watch the sharks take everyone who wasn’t fast enough to get in a lifeboat. We’re all in the water now and the sharks are circling. 

I can see the beach now and the trees have thinned enough for moonlight to penetrate them when two devils swoop in. We try to shoot them, but they dodge at insane, inhuman speeds. All I even see of them are spinning blurs of black hair and green capes. Suddenly there’s an impact on my helmet and I’m on the ground, pistol and lantern lost to the underbrush. 

“Squad, report,” I croak as I push myself to my knees and shake my head to clear it.

“Still, here, Sarge,” Diego calls.

“I’m still here too, Sarge,” the mocking female voice from earlier calls from the bushes in front of me.

“Fuck you!” I shout as I throw my helmet at the voice. Damn devils are mocking us now. “Diego,” I call as I stand and draw the bayonet from my belt. No response. A glance confirms it, my entire squad is gone, without a trace. “Merde,” I mutter, and then chuckle despite the terror I feel. Grandmother was so upset when grandfather taught me that part of the old tongue. I wonder if her ghost is about to scold me for it.

I glance at the beach, so temptingly close, and sigh. They want me to run, and then they’ll finish me and laugh about it. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come. I will refuse to entertain the filthy devils, and then I meet my grandparents again. “What are you waiting for?!” I demand, arms held wide, bayonet gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m right here! Come on!” At least let me stab one of them before I go. 

“If you insist,” the voice from the bush calls. I begin to advance on her position when suddenly, slender arms wrap under my own and around my neck, locking me in place like iron bands.

“Drop the knife,” a hard, feminine voice demands, so close I can feel her breath on my ear.

“Fuck you, devil,” I reply, hoping that I don’t piss myself. I try to kick her, but she blocks it with a kick of her own to the back of my knee and pins my leg down. Her only reply is to tighten her grip. As my vision begins to fade, I’m suddenly oddly aware of the pair of breasts pressed against my back. What a strange thing to notice while dying…

After what seems like forever, my vision comes back. Damn she-devil squeezed my neck until I couldn’t grip my bayonet anymore. I try not to tremble, but fail as the realization that they won’t make it quick sets in. “Why don’t you finish me?”

A tall woman who is oddly wearing a pair of goggles over an eyepatch steps out of the bushes ahead of me, flanked by a short man with eyes that remind me of a shark’s. “Oh, we aren’t here to kill you, Mr. Sarge.” I notice she holds my helmet in her hands and is idly toying with it. Suddenly, strong hands twist my arms behind my back and I feel rough rope wrapping around my wrists. “We just want you to come back to camp with us and have a conversation.” Shit. The devils are going to torture me before they eat me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warning: unless you’re a manga reader, be sure to watch episode 68 before reading this.

“We done?” the short devil asks while continuing to give me a cold glare. Looks like he’s trying to decide what the most fun way to kill me would be. 

“Yeah,” the cyclops replies. “You got him?” 

A voice from behind me replies, “Yes, Commander,” and suddenly I’m tucked under that devil’s arm like a damn sack of flour. This makes no damn sense, my arm’s bigger than the one wrapped around me, but I’m being held up like I weigh nothing. Then suddenly, the ground rapidly recedes from us and someone screams.

She tells me to be quiet and I realize it’s my own scream I hear. I clamp my jaw shut and try not to flinch too bad when branches whip past my face. 

I wonder if she’s going to smash me against a tree, or simply drop me. Or maybe the devils enjoy fear. She keeps coming close to them, swerving around at the last moment, and I feel my stomach heave in a way it hasn’t since I was a cadet on my first training at sea. It’s almost like sailing through a bad storm, but everything moves so much faster. “Slow-“ Before I can say another word, my dinner pours out, raining down on the branches below. 

When I finish retching, I realize we’ve stopped moving. The crazy devil is somehow standing on the side of a tree trunk, still holding me up with one arm. I wonder if all of the island devils have this inhuman strength?

“Finished?” Her voice isn’t as hard now as when she was demanding my bayonet. 

“Got nothing left,” I groan. She wipes my face with a handkerchief, then drops it into the darkness the moonlight doesn’t reach below us. Guess even devils don’t want to haul around the stink of vomit with them. 

“Here.” She holds an odd-shaped canteen in front of my face. “It’s water, rinse your mouth.” I nod and open my mouth, not much I can do with my hands still tied between my back. As I swish the water around my mouth, I wonder how pathetic I must look right now, to gain the pity of an island devil. That’s just sad. And I didn’t even think they could feel pity.

I spit and she offers the canteen again. As I swallow a mouthful of water, it occurs to me that I’m probably drinking after an Island devil. Hopefully I don’t get sick from her island germs, but at least my throat isn’t burning anymore. I can still smell it faintly, must’ve gotten some on my shirt. “It’s only a little further now. Are you ready to move?”

Why does this frightening woman care if I’m ready? “If you’re not gonna finish me off here, could you maybe go slower?” Her response is to start moving, but not so fast as before. Probably afraid I’ll puke again and get it all over her. “Hey. Thanks.” I’m no devil, so I should at least show some decorum. Even though she’s probably going to kill me soon. 

Can devils understand gratitude? I’m wondering if she even recognized that word when she speaks again. “You’re welcome.” Huh. Guess they know at least the forms to follow.

Since watching the trees worked out so poorly earlier, I fix my eyes on what I can see of the strange flying contraption strapped to her. A thin cable keeps shooting out of a box on her waist and retracting. Can’t tell what powers it, but the zipper sound is coming from somewhere behind us. Doesn’t sound like any kind or motor I’ve ever heard, and I can’t smell any exhaust. So many straps on her, must be such a pain in the ass to deal with. And why are those bulky boxes strapped to her thighs? Do all of those leg movements help steer? Only devils would invent something so bizarre. 

After what seems like forever, I finally have my boots on the ground. I’d sink down in relief if a hand wasn’t clamped on my arm like a vise, holding me upright. Looking up, I see three male devils standing around us. “We were about to go looking for you,” the blonde one says. 

“I had to stop for a minute because he threw up,” my captor explains. 

A devil with close-cropped hair asks, “In midair? Glad I wasn’t following behind you two.”

“Yeah,” she confirms, “it’s all over my right boot, too.” Well, at least I hit a devil with something tonight. The other devils give off various disgusted sounding noises. Sympathy? 

“Oi,” I hear from behind as my other arm is roughly seized by a larger hand that squeezes just as tight. “Go clean yourself up, I’ve got him.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the female replies, finally releasing me. 

“This way, puke boy,” the other commands as he roughly shoves me forward by his grip on my arm. Why the hell are these island devils so damn strong? He continues to manhandle me, apparently effortlessly, and I find myself exiting the forest behind a small series of entrenchments that face a rocky plain. I can see the beach my squad landed on some distance to the side, but the devils seem to be expecting an attack from another direction. 

The cyclops is waiting for us. “Hello again, Mr. Sarge, and welcome to our island-“

“Sergeant is my title,” I interrupt. 

The one behind me squeezes my arm harder and growls, “Watch your fucking manners, puke boy.” I believe he could rip that arm off if he wanted. I try not to shudder at the idea. 

The one-eyed devil blinks. “Did I miss something? Puke boy?”

“This little shit puked all over my cousin’s boots. Surprised he hasn’t pissed himself yet.”

“Levi, be nice! I’m sure he didn’t mean to, and Sergeant Sarge here is our guest, you don’t need to squeeze his arm off like that.”

“Tch, fine,” he concedes as he released me As he steps away, I see that he’s the short man from before, still giving me that cold glare. 

“Now, where were we, Sergeant Sarge? Mind if I call you Sarge?”

“Sarge is the short form of Sergeant,” I correct her. Are island devils just dumb, or is their military structure really that much different? We speak the same language, they should have similar concepts. 

“Ah, guess that was silly to assume your squad was calling your name.” She looks at me expectantly, obviously expecting a more accurate introduction. 

“Sergeant Niccolo Viglione, 658921, Marley Imperial Marines, and that’s all I’m obliged to say when captured.”

“I think he just politely told you to fuck off, shitty glasses,” the short one remarks. 

“Eh? Well, I’m Commander Hange, Zoe, without any numbers in my name, from the Survey Corps. Why do you have numbers in your name? And why are you obliged to say that?”

“Rank, name, serial number, and service branch. That’s all I’m supposed to say if captured.” I’d like to say that’s all I will say, but I’m just a conscript, in the third lowest rank. I’ve never had any training on resisting interrogation and have no illusion that they won’t break me when they get serious about it. 

“Cereal, huh? Is that something about what rations you get?” This devil is just full of questions. 

Is this how interrogations work? They haven’t asked a single thing important yet. “It’s just some dumb thing the pencil pushers use to keep track of us.”

“Ah. Here, have a seat, we could be waiting a while.” She helps me down to a seated position on the ground, then takes a seat across from me. The short devil, Levi, sneers and leans against the entrenchment behind her. “Now, what’s a pencil pusher?”

I sigh. No end in sight. “That’s just what we call worthless soldiers who sit behind desks while the rest of us go fight.”

The short one nods. “We call those MPs.” He nods again, his glare temporarily displaced by a thoughtful expression. 

“See, Levi!” the taller one proclaims. “You thought this would be a waste of time, and you’ve already learned a new insult! Are you thirsty, Niccolo? You don’t mind if I call you Niccolo, right?” These damn devils make no sense. 

* * *

After what seems an eternity of mostly inane questions, a devil runs up and gives a strange salute in the direction of my interrogator. “Commander! They’re making a move.”

“Time to greet the rest of our guests! Come along, Niccolo.” She stands and helps me to my feet, then leads me to the earthworks and points to the beach. “You ready to greet your friends?” My skepticism must be obvious, as she assures me, “Just watch!”

And so I watch, as the ship sits there. Am I supposed to watch the next two squads go ashore and meet the same fate as my own? 

Suddenly the ship is moving. Rising. Fuck, their pet titan was waiting in the water. Now I see why the entrenchments face an empty plain, it’s carrying the whole damn ship to the prepared kill zone in front of us. 

At least the ship should be useless to the devils, there’s no chance the keel didn’t break when the titan threw it down on the ground. And then the one-eyed lunatic jumps onto a rock and spouts a ridiculous greeting, before inviting them to tea, of all things. The short one has me in that vise grip again, this time with something sharp pressed against my back, and shoves me forward to where the tall one wraps her filthy arms around me as she continues to prattle on. I see. They think I’ll make a good shield for them. 

“Captain!” I shout as loud as I can. “Don’t mind me! Just shoot these damned devils!" She actually seems shocked that I’m not playing along, while the short one just seems amused. “Captain!” Don’t just talk pull the trigger! She’s reminding him of the titan standing right behind him, but that doesn’t matter. We’re dead men in any case. She finally realizes she’s in danger and takes cover as the captain rushes forward and takes aim with his rifle, but the short one is still holding me up. Shoot me, and we can at least destroy the devil standing behind me. 

Oh, what the fuck. What the fuck. There’s devil-loving mutineers on board and now the best officer I ever served under is laying on the deck with a hole in his head. That damn weird tall woman just shot him without warning. What the fuck. How could we not notice damn devil lovers among us?

I’m honestly not sure how long I stand there, shocked, before the short devil pulls me aside; I follow numbly. “You’ve got balls, puke boy,” he remarks, sounding bored, before he raises his voice “Oi! I need a volunteer to take puke boy here to the camp!”

“I’ll take care of it, sir,” a long faced male devil states as he approaches us. I’m led back into the forest, where we find a line of horses tied out. The taller devil mounts one and suddenly I’m being lifted up again, one hand grabbing the back of my belt and the other my shirt, and I find myself draped across the seated devil’s knees. “Don’t worry,” he announces with a laugh, “this is as awkward for me as it is for you.”

“Small comfort,” I mutter. “Why not just end me and get it over with?” as the short one walks away from us. 

“Maybe that’s how they do it in Marley,” the devil whose lap I’ve been thrown across declares, “but we aren’t about to start killing prisoners.” Yeah, not until after they’ve finished torturing me, more like. “You ever ride a horse before?”

“Never.”

“Keep your teeth together if you don’t want to bite your tongue,” the long faced devil instructs me as he grabs the back of my shirt and starts his horse moving. “I won’t let you fall; just relax and try to go with the rhythm, I won’t go too fast.” Once again, I get to choose between passing trees and a mysterious box on a leg to look at. At least I can see the ground now. 

“Here’s the last one from the first group,” the devil transporting me informs someone when we finally stop. “You ok?”. I sigh and chuckle a bit at the absurdity of it all, being delivered in good condition just so they can torture me. The devil joins in, sounding oddly rueful. “Yeah, you’ve all had a rough night, guess that’s an odd thing to ask.” Two pairs of hands take hold of me and lift me from the horse, then roughly search me before untying me and leading me to a tent and shoving me in. 

“Sarge!” Enzo notices me first, and then the whole squad is surrounding me, pressing me with questions. I give them the bad news and ask what I’ve missed. Dinner, firstly, but they saved me one of the weird little hard bread bars and a canteen of water. Tastes like nothing, is this normal devil food? None of them have been tortured yet, at least that’s some good news. I doubt it’ll last. And I’m informed I can ask the guard outside if I need to go take a piss or anything. 

I check my pockets after eating. The devils left my cigarettes, but took my lighter. Cruel bastards. I sit for a bit before a thought occurs to me. Time to see what ‘or anything’ includes. “Be right back,” I announce before pushing aside the tent flap and stepping out. 

“Need something?” a bored looking devil asks as the tent flap falls closed behind me. 

“Yeah, can I bum a light off you?” I hold up my cigarettes to make sure there’s no confusion. 

“Sorry, can’t help you,” he replies. Shit. He then points and says, “Go ask for Samuel. Dark haired guy, smokes. He’ll have one for you.” I nod and head the direction he pointed.

The devils don’t seem too worried about me escaping. Where the hell would I go, with no idea where this camp even is? Eventually, after a few other devils challenge me and then point the way, I spot a glowing cherry. The dark haired devil puffing at it must be Samuel. 

“Hey,” I call as I step forward and pull out a cigarette, “Got a light?”

“Sure,” he replies as he pulls out a book of matches. Do they not have lighters here? I’m in no position to be picky, so I step forward as he strikes a match off a thumbnail and holds it out for me. 

Ah. That’s better. Not much, my night’s still gone to absolute shit and they’ll probably start serious interrogation tomorrow, but at least my nerves aren’t so bad as they were a minute ago. I let out that first puff and nod. “Appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. Name’s Samuel.” He holds out a hand.

Ah what the hell, I’ve already been manhandled by a half dozen devils and this one just did me a big favor. I shake his hand. “Niccolo.”

“Didn’t even know Marleyians had cigarettes.”

“Yeah, they give us packs with our rations.”

“Seriously?” I nod. “Damn, and here I am paying for my own.”

“Sounds like my squad isn’t getting any more when we run out,” I remark. Probably a silly thing to worry about in our situation. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but no promises my Squad Leader will agree. And here, take one of these back to your squad,” he says, handing me a pack of matches. Looks like I found the one decent Eldian in the island. I guess that one that cleaned me up and gave me water wasn’t too bad either, but the rest can go straight to hell as far as I’m concerned. Samuel and I shoot the shit for a few minutes more and then he gives me an island cigarette to try before we part ways. 

* * *

The squads reaction when I walk back into the tent with that island cigarette burning in my mouth is almost as excited as the last time I walked in. It’s just a tiny bit of good news, but I knew they’d latch onto any they can get, so they all line up to have one lit, only arguing a bit over who goes first. I finish mine, then curl up in one of the blankets we were given to attempt to get a little rest in what’s left of the night. 

* * *

“Hey, Sarge.” I must have finally fallen asleep, somehow, Klaus is shaking me awake. “They want you, outside the tent." They? I exit the tent to find that weird tall woman waiting for me, flanked by two guards.   
“Good morning, Niccolo. I have work for you.” What the hell do they want now? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone’s wondering why I gave Niccolo an Italian surname, when he was swearing in French last chapter, each comes from a different set of grandparents, from two different regions conquered by Marley. It's not an important detail, but it'll come up later. Probably. 
> 
> And why is he a smoker, you wonder? Soldiers of that era generally were, since nobody knew about lung cancer yet, and it gave an opening for an ‘island devil’ to surprise him with kindness, chipping away a little from all that anti-Eldian prejudice.


	3. Chapter 3

“And if I say no, or the food’s not up to snuff, what, you’ll put a bullet through my head like you did the Captain?”

By the cold stare she’s giving me, I suspect that tall traitor wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me. “Forcing an artist to work is no way to get quality art. No, you’ll prepare this feast willingly.”

I scoff. “These devils are going to send titans to trample the rest of the world if they aren’t stopped. You think I’ll be willing to use my talents for the people who would crush my family to death? And don’t you have family back home? You’re really going to let them die like that?” One of the guards flanking her looks angered by my words, while the other shows no reaction.

Her expression relaxes to something more neutral as she replies, “I do have family back home. Do you know what happens when you back someone into a corner and don’t finish them off immediately? They come out swinging.” Her creepy stare intensifies as she continues, ”Paradis is in a corner, Niccolo, the generals’ reckless invasion plans will lead directly to the rumbling we fear. But there is a faction in the military with a different plan. A plan with a better chance of your family and mine not getting trampled to death.”

She makes a decent point about the risk of what we were sent to this damned island for, but what else can we do? Seizing the founding titan is the only way to prevent its dreadful power from destroying us all. “So your plan is what, we beg the island devils to pretty please not slaughter us all?”

Seems she doesn’t like sarcasm one bit. For just a moment, her face is filled with murderous fury and she glares down at me like she’s about to take a swing, then she appears calm again. “I’m only a representative. His plan is more complex than that,” her face practically glows when she refers to whoever he is, then goes back to normal as she continues, ”and the people of this island are more reasonable than what we were all taught as children. Your new smoking pal filed a written request this morning to supply Marleyan prisoners with cigarettes, and you still think they’re all devils?”

“One good Eldian.” I hold up a finger for emphasis. “Whoever runs this damn island still has the power to kill the world.”

“One good Eldian,” she throws back at me, “when they taught us that there was no such thing on this island. What else did those Marleyan textbooks lie about?”

“So they exaggerated. Doesn’t change the power this island holds over the world.”

“So why didn’t they use that power to retaliate seven years ago, when the Warrior Unit attacked and killed a quarter of the population? Or five years later when they tried to finish the job?” She must be exaggerating the body count, but still I have no response. Why _didn’t_ they counterattack? All I know about that operation is that the Warriors lost two of the nine, including Marley’s greatest weapon. “Why are you and your squad even still alive?” she continues. “None of you have any vital knowledge or any skills that we can’t carry out the plan without. Even what I’m asking you to do is only something that would be nice to have, not something vital.”

She pauses a moment before she continues, “Although giving some of their officers a taste of what would be destroyed could make them less likely to support that destruction. And one of those officers, Commander Hange, will have that request for cigarettes on her desk tomorrow. You have nothing to lose here, but if you feed her well, you may earn better treatment for your squad.”

As much as I hate the traitor, I have to admit she makes good points. And I saw last night that everyone in my squad is running low on smokes. “I doubt they can properly appreciate what my skills can create. What do I have to work with?” I ask.

At least she doesn’t gloat or smirk at me for giving in. She simply answers, “Fish. They’ve never had seafood before.”

“That’s it?” I scoff again. “Any military cook can slap down a plate full of fish if that’s what you want. If you want to use my skills fully to impress them, I’ll at least need the ingredients for sides, preferably enough for multiple courses. And what sorts of tools and spices are available to cook with?”

“Good, you still have some pride in your art. I’ll get some lists and find you this afternoon so we can plan tomorrow’s menu.” She then turns and leaves with one of the guards without another word. Damn rude, but at least that weird traitor left as soon as she got what she came for. The remaining guard still looks angry, and I think he’s about to chew me out, but he leads us to breakfast instead. Flavorless, overcooked porridge, but at least it’s hot and filling. All things considered, it’s nice to be eating instead of being eaten, which I had been sure would’ve happened to me by now.

“You really gonna cook for devils, Sarge?” Klaus asks, his distaste for the idea plain on his face.

“May as well, got nothing else going on,” I reply, shrugging. “And maybe they’ll give us better chow if they like it, or at least let me cook for us so it’s made right.”

“What if they try to eat you instead, Sergeant?” My youngest subordinate Enzo usually is the first to worry, but he’s probably not the only one thinking what he just said.

“I may be a little rusty, but I don’t think I’ll fuck up cooking _that_ badly,” I joke.

“I mean, what if they throw you to a titan when they’re done?”

“Sun’s up,” I point out. “Why aren’t we all being eaten right now?”

“They’re supposed to be everywhere out here,” Lucille remarks, “and we haven’t seen or heard a single titan.”

“The devils don’t seem a bit worried about them, either,” Diego adds. “I thought they were just being stupid or crazy, being this far from the wall. Maybe they’re not.”

Klaus nods. “Invasion just got a lot easier if the whole island’s clear like this. Shame we don’t have any way to get word to the other ships.”

“Yeah.” I glance up at a small group of devils flying past and my squad follows my gaze. For every guard down on the ground with us, it seems there’s at least two in the trees. They’re making it very clear that we won’t leave the edge of this forest unless they want us to. “It’s up to the other ships to figure it out and report back. Maybe we’ll get out of this alive after all.”

* * *

“Quit griping, our guests are here,” my mostly worthless self-proclaimed assistant informs me.

“Then make yourself useful for once and pour them some wine,” I tell the overly tall freak. Aside from carrying a few plates to the table and setting them in the wrong place, all she’s done so far is watch me work my ass off. And if that wasn’t bad enough for my mood, I can see where the other two ships sit at anchor, with devils on their decks. “Damn devils better appreciate this…”

All I’ve had to eat the past few days were the bland rations that Samuel told me were standard for their military. Having to smell the feast I’ve prepared after that is borderline torturous, but at least I’m not as rusty as I thought I’d be. Only burned myself a few times and everything smells correct. Shame I don’t have the same calluses I used to, the old head chef I trained under would laugh his ass off if he could see me flinching away from a hot pan like it was my first day in a kitchen.

Turning to see the officers and senior scouts I’d been told I would be serving, I’m shocked at how young they are. Most look around my age, when I was expecting them to be at least twenty years older. All are wearing civilian clothes as well, instead of the expected uniforms.

The cyclops is at the head of the small procession to the beach, with that small, angry man at her side. She looks excited, while he glares at the feast I’ve prepared as if it was shouting insults at him. Such strange people, these island devils. Close on their heels, a trio of young devils chatters excitedly among themselves. I recognize the long faced man who took me to the camp by horseback on my first night among them, with a brown haired woman and a man with very close-cropped hair. A melancholy looking man and woman follows a few paces behind, accompanied by a blond man who stares curiously at the feast I’ve laid out.

Damn devils are staring at the table like they aren’t sure the tremendous feast I’ve labored over is even food. Damn ungrateful devils. I start to grumble about how they can go hungry if they’d rather and… Damn. Oh, damn. Damn, I, I’ve never seen anything like this, this pure display of joy, wonder, radiance... Oh, damn. I used to mock people who would talk about their heart skipping a beat, but I just felt it. And then she calls my name and it feels like my heart stopped. Calls me a genius and my knees feel like jelly. Oh, damn…

Damn it, she’s going to choke if she doesn’t slow down. Her comrades apparently don’t care, they’re all eating with gusto now. I try to be subtle at first, reminding her of manners and saying there’s more food coming, but she’s lost in angelic ecstasy, with a far-away look in her beautiful brown eyes and tears rolling down her cheeks as an oyster slides past her lips. I’m practically begging her not to choke herself and the man with the extremely short haircut is saying this is normal for her, for Sasha, what a gorgeous name, he’s saying she won’t choke when her eyes focus on me and she comes out of her ecstatic state. “Oh, Mr. Niccolo, is that for me?” she asks, gesturing at the plate I hold.

“Yes, yes it is,” I reply holding the plate out. She takes hold of the plate and I keep a tight grip on it as I look her in the eyes and continue, “But please, Miss Sasha, slow down. There’s plenty more I’m going to cook for you, and you need to save room for dessert.”

Her eyes widen a bit and she smiles. “And what are you making us for dessert?”

I smile back and reply, “That’s a surprise.”

“Oh, come on!” Seems she really wants to know.

“Nope. You’ll have to wait and see,” I tease as I finally release the plate. “If you have room left, that is.”

“Well that’s silly, I always have room for dessert,” she promises as a crab leg disintegrates between her slender fingers. She takes her first taste of crab meat and I find myself stunned again. I could happily stand and watch all day, except that would be creepy and I do have a lot more cooking left. And so I regretfully return to the impromptu kitchen I’ve set up and get back to work.

I keep the dishes coming and occasionally catch her watching curiously as I work. Somehow, I don’t find the attention and the occasional glimpses I catch of her joy distracting, rather, I find it inspiring and I focus intently on my art, soon losing track of how long I’ve been cooking.

Eventually, the ingredients run low. The sauce for the dessert is cooking down nicely as I plate up the last of the meat, shrimp served in a sauce of clarified butter and some local herbs that aren’t quite what I asked for, but are near enough in flavor.

After I return from serving it, I pull out the flat, shallow dessert bowls and the stack of thin crêpes I prepared earlier. I quickly place a pair on each plate, folded around a spoonful of the fruit I’d diced earlier. I then take one of the bowls in my right hand and, holding my arm out at an angle, very carefully stack all but one of the rest up my arm, each slightly overlapping the one below it. After taking the last one in my left hand, I make my way with great care to the table, where conversation halts at my approach. Guess they’ve never seen anyone serve dishes like this before.

“Is this dessert?” Sasha asks eagerly.

“Almost,” I reply as I set the first bowl down in front of her. “Just wait for the sauce.”

“Almost? I don’t know how much more waiting I can take,” she declares with a grin.

“It’ll be worth the wait,” I promise while setting down the rest of the bowls, “trust me.” She nods as I head back to get the sauce. I really should be using cognac, but the strong rum from the ship will do in a pinch, so I uncap the bottle and pour a generous amount into the sauce pan.

“Shots on dessert? Nice!” I hear one of the men comment as I lift the pan and turn back to the table. It’s too bad there weren’t any long matches available. I strike a regular one when I reach the table and carefully touch it to the sauce, producing an impressive fireball and properly surprised expressions around the table. And shit, I almost got stabbed. Didn’t even see the short guy pull that knife, but I definitely notice the glare he shoots me before he slips it away. Maybe I should’ve done the flambé a little further from the table. The guards standing around don’t look very happy with me either but everyone else around the table stares raptly at the blue flames rising from the pan.

Using a steel ladle, I carefully spoon flaming sauce into each of the bowls, starting with Sasha’s. “Now,” I instruct, “as soon as the sauce burns down, you can eat.” I then turn to take the pan back to the kitchen.

“You didn’t say you were going to set off a bomb,” my alleged assistant accuses me.

“I told you I was going to flambé crêpes. And I burned my damn thumb doing it because _you_ couldn’t get the right fucking matches,” I fire back, holding up the singed digit.

“Well, you certainly impressed them.” She then turns to one of the guards and instructs, “You can take him back to camp now.” Damm, I was hoping to get to see more. I cast a glance over my shoulder as I follow the guard and see Sasha waving. I send a wave and a smile back before continuing after the guard. I never expected to meet an angel on the island of devils, and it seems I made a good impression. Not that it does me any good as a prisoner, but it’s nice to imagine how things might be if my circumstances were different.


	4. Chapter 4

I sigh and release a stream of smoke as my thoughts continue to run in circles. Been spending a lot of time thinking the past day. I’m currently laying stretched out on a quiet patch of ground between two tents, hands behind my head, trying to figure out what to do, and still somehow just as damn confused as I was yesterday.

Why’d they even trust me to handle their food? I’m their enemy, they should all hate me for why I came here. And why the hell did feeding them feel so damn good? I came here to fight them, or more likely to die getting information others could use to fight them, so why was I happier yesterday than I’ve been in years? Well, at least those were just some young officers, not like any of them would have the authority to start the rumbling.

A squad of devils flies past overhead and I’m certain I’d have been able to shoot a few if we’d fought during daytime. Part of me is glad we didn’t, I might have shot her without ever meeting her like I did yesterday. Part of me feels like a damn traitor for feeling that, for how I feel about Sasha. What a pretty name. And what a frustratingly pointless crush to develop, not like a mere prisoner’s likely to get another chance to talk to any of the young officers I fed yesterday, especially the one I most want to get to know. Seems mostly low ranking people patrolling the ground around the tents.

And there she is, flying past with what I presume to be her squad, Sasha and a half dozen younger Eldians following behind that black-haired woman who’s name I didn’t catch. Damn, Sasha’s graceful, like she’s dancing on the air. I could watch her fly around all day. Did she just wave at me before passing out of sight, or was that just wishful thinking?

The fuck is wrong with me, feeling hope for something so obviously hopeless? I’m sure she was just being polite yesterday, but damn it would be nice if there was more to it. Not often someone calls me mister. Though I’ve heard it a fair amount lately, definitely didn’t expect to find so much courtesy on the island of the devils. Or appreciativeness.

Aside from being stunned by Sasha’s wondrous display of joyful appreciation, and I could watch her eat my cooking all day, it was also more gratifying than it should have been to see the rest enjoying their meals. Everyone except the little angry guy was smiling, and he at least stopped frowning and glaring. At least until I lit the sauce. Such a shame I didn’t get to see the reactions to the flavor of the dessert. I really hope Sasha liked it. And I hope she survives when Marley inevitably invades. And maybe if I’m really lucky, I’ll get a chance to talk with her again. Shit, since when am I lucky? None of this makes any sense.

“Oi, Niccolo,” a familiar voice calls from behind me as I hear footsteps approach.

“Hey, Samuel,” I reply without looking back.

“Haven’t seen you around,” he remarks, ”almost thought you slipped off somewhere.”

I chuckle at this as he takes a seat and lights a cigarette. “Maybe I’ll give that a try if I ever feel like getting lost in the woods till one of you drags me back. Think I’ve had enough of getting hauled around in the air, though.”

“I heard about that,” he says with a laugh. “Heard you served up a hell of a meal, too.”

“Yeah? So they all liked it?”

He grunts an affirmative as he leans back against the side of a tent. “Rumor mill has it that you served up all kinds of weird looking stuff from the sea that all tasted great, then you set the table on fire and made some sort of dessert on it. Dunno how that would work.”

“It was just the sauce burning on the dessert. High proof rum was the last thing I added, so it’d burn hot enough to improve the flavor without scorching anything.”

“Now you got me wondering.”

“Yeah?”

“You think dumping some gin on my rations and lighting them up would improve the taste?”

“Eh, it can’t-“ I choke on my words as her squad sails overhead again, then recover and continue after she’s out of sight again, “can’t make them taste any worse.”

“Well.” He sounds amused.

“Well what?”

Samuel grins as he elaborates, “Well, looks like someone met a pretty girl and got smitten.”

I sigh. Was I that obvious? “Guess that’s a dumb thing for a prisoner to do huh? And doing a shit job of hiding it, apparently.”

He shrugs at this. “Hey, can’t control your heart, man. Dumb or not, it’ll do whatever it wants. So, welcome to the club.”

“What club?”

He chuckles lightly. “I was in the same Training Corps class as her. At one point or another in the three years we trained together I think most of the guys, including yours truly, and a fair number of the girls had a crush on the woman worth a hundred soldiers. And Mikasa shot us all down.”

“Huh? No, I was looking at Sasha.”

“Sasha? The sloppy eating girl who goes berserk over food?”

“She wasn’t sloppy, just… enthusiastic,” I insist. “And amazingly joyful, appreciative, radiant.”

“Huh. Not the way I’d describe her habits, but alright.”

I narrow my eyes and quietly demand, “You saying there’s something wrong with her?” I know my squad would have objections if I mentioned her around them, didn’t think Samuel would.

He lets out a low whistle at this. “You’ve got it bad. No, there’s nothing wrong. She’s a little different, but she also saved my life, and introduced me to my wife, by shooting me in the leg.”

“She what? Is that… normal dating practice on this island?”

He laughs heartily at this. “No, you don’t have to get injured before asking someone out, it just helped in my case. You know much about when your people’s titan shifters attacked us a few years back?”

“Just that the warrior unit failed hard enough to lose two of the titans they’d been trusted with.”

“You know about the walls, right?”

“Only that there’s three, full of oversize titans that might go for a walk some day and kill everyone I care about back home.”

“That’s only a last resort, I really don’t think it’ll ever happen,” he assures me.

“You seriously think whoever runs this place isn’t going to use that power to strike back?”

“Man, we just want to be left alone. Most of us didn’t even know an outside world existed till a couple years back. Anyway, seven years back, the armored and colossal broke through our outer wall. Couple years later, I was old enough to join the military and ended up in training with all the folk around our age you fed yesterday, and for some reason all three of your warriors were there too.”

Huh, did they somehow not notice there were four? And he enlisted five years ago? That doesn’t sound right. “Wait, how old were you?”

“Twelve.”

Damn, that’s almost as early as warrior candidates. And he said three years? These guys were graduating when I was getting drafted. “Why’s the training so long? We just got four months before they sent us out to fight.”

“That’s just how long it takes to master flying around on ODM gear. So after we graduated, they put us on wall duty before letting us choose what branch to go into. Sasha graduated in the top ten, but wasn’t taking wall duty seriously and was wandering around visiting with other squads. So lucky for me she happened to be nearby when the colossal attacked and I was knocked out and fell off the wall. I’m told she didn’t even hesitate before going over the edge and sprinting down the wall after me.”

“Down the side of the wall?” I’m trying to visualize what he’s telling me, but it doesn’t make much sense.

“Yeah, you see there’s a limit to how fast you can fall, because the air slows you down. She used the wall to drop faster so she could catch up to me. Shot a hook into my leg when she got close enough, then hooked the wall and stopped about five meters before I would’ve splattered. I’m told that my boot and her hook were about all that was holding my leg together when I got to the field hospital, they weren’t sure I’d even walk again. I was laid up for months healing and got kinda close with one of the nurses. So after I got discharged, I walked back in and asked her out, and that turned out pretty well.”

“She always gutsy like that?” Impressively decisive, too.

“That’s why she’s one of the elites.”

“Yeah?” Elite. Sounds like the girl of my dreams is even further out of reach than I thought.

“Second in command of Mikasa squad, that crew’s second only to Levi squad.” I have no idea what those names mean, but his tone tells me it’s something impressive.

“Sounds like someone only a hopeless idiot of a prisoner would catch feelings for,” I glumly remark as the squad in question passes again and hopeless longing twists in my heart.

“You should talk to her next time you get a chance.”

“What?”

“She literally just waved at you, man. You should talk to her.”

“You sure she waved at me?” Feeling a bit of hope now. Just a bit.

“She sure wasn’t waving like that at me, Sasha’s no homewrecker. No, somehow you’ve managed to catch her interest. Maybe you should do something about that.”

“What, should I go climb a tree to chat her up or something? Elites don’t seem to spend much time on the ground.” Yeah, I’d probably fall and break a leg or something. Definitely wouldn’t get a chance to talk with her laid up in an infirmary.

“I might have something,” he says as he stands back up. “I’m supposed to be fetching you to talk with Yelena about another job, but wanted to see what was up with that face you were making first.”

Huh. I never did have the best poker face. “More cooking?” I ask as I stand.

“Can’t think of any other reason she’d ask for you specifically,” he states as he begins leading the way. “Unless you’re not the only newcomer to develop a crush.”

“Ugh, I hope not.”

“Too tall for you?”

“Too backstabbing for me.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, if you’re cooking again, she’ll find a way to come get a taste. That’s your chance.”

“What if she’s not invited?”

“Even better, she’ll sneak into the kitchen and you can talk there.”

‘I get an actual kitchen this time?”

“Probably. We’ve been building a more secure camp just south of the city our headquarters is in and it’s far enough along we’ve started moving prisoners to it. Now wait here, Yalena’s meeting with the Commander; I’ll let you know when they’re ready to see you.”

* * *

I end up cooling my heels outside the tent for a good 20 minutes before Samuel opens the tent flap and waves me in, then leaves to resume his patrol. Guess hurry up and wait is a thing in the devil military too. Inside I find the one eyed commander, along with that short man who seems to always be around her, the tall traitor, the traitor with the really long name I can’t remember, and a traitor I haven’t met yet. More importantly, I smell coffee. My eyes are drawn immediately to the small pot on a table, standard Marley naval issue and steaming away wonderfully. Damn. It’s been days since I’ve even smelled coffee, didn’t realize how much I missed it.

The sound of snapping fingers and a barked “Oi!” brings my attention back to the other people in the tent. Shit. Guess I zoned out a bit there, the little guy and the tall freak are glaring at me while the Commander and that guy with the long name both look damn amused.

“Ah, could you repeat the question?” I request.

“I was just saying hello,” the Commander replies. “Are you feeling alright, Niccolo?”

“Maybe he’s thirsty from waiting,” the long-named fellow suggests.

“Could be, Oyankopon, he was staring at the drinks. Would you like some tea, Niccolo? Or maybe some of this, what did you call it, coffee?” Oyankopon nods and I utter a perfunctory thanks as I rush to the coffee pot. By the scent, whoever brewed it knew what they were doing.

I take a moment to breath in the aroma before taking the first sip. Might be my last cup, since they don’t seem familiar with it here, probably oughta enjoy it. “Thanks,” I repeat as I turn back to my captors. “I missed this stuff.”

“What, you don’t like our tea?” the short one demands. Normally I take a question like that as a joke, but his stonefaced expression is absolutely serious.

“Maybe they steep it too long sometimes, but it’s fine. I just prefer coffee.” His eyes narrow and I notice he’s the only one in the tent with tea in his cup. Maybe he brewed it and doesn’t like the fact nobody else wants it? I should say something nice about tea. “Ah, it’s not always my first choice, though. Especially if you have some oolong or orange pekoe leaves, haven’t had either of them in years.”

“Wait, you have more types of tea out there?” His intense gaze seems to bore to the back of my skull as he crosses the tent to stand in front of me. “Tell me about this oolong,” he orders.

* * *

I never expected to be interrogated about tea. My only consolation in this bizarre situation is that the tall traitor is looking increasingly angry and upset as it goes on and every time she attempts to steer the conversation to what she needs, the short guy finds a new vulgar way to tell her to shut up. All I really know about the subject is about the teas served in the restaurant I trained in, and he seems intent on dragging out every detail about them, right down to temperature and steeping time.

I’m on my third cup of coffee when the Commander, who’s been chuckling into her own cup this whole time, finally puts a stop to it. “Levi, you two can finish this talk later, we need to discuss business before Niccolo misses the last cart to the new camp.”

“Tch, just tie him to a horse if he misses his ride, he’ll be fine.”

“You can track him down later if you want to talk more,” she orders.

“Fine,” he concedes. “We’ll finish this later. Don’t go giving four eyes any more dumb ideas, she almost burned down the tent this morning.”

“The fireball wasn’t that big,” she denies.” Looking closer, I notice her eyebrow is missing.

“Did you flambé your porridge?” I ask.

“Is that what it’s called? The thing you did with dessert? It was pretty good on breakfast, too.”

“Waste of rum,” Levi grumbles as he sits at a table on the side of the tent and begins flipping through what looks like a cargo manifest.

“We didn’t call you here to discuss breakfast or tea,” the overly tall blonde speaks up before the discussion can go off on another tangent. “I’ve been speaking with the Commander about the meal you prepared yesterday and we have a proposal for you. How would you like to open a Marley-style restaurant?” Looks like Samuel was right about this being a good opportunity for me.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is welcome. This will be the first time in years I've written either 1st person or romance, so hopefully it still turns out alright.


End file.
